Darnand had produced some dwemer contraption that boiled the vegetables he brought along with him for the trip.
Vera's strong teeth ripped into the meat. She had good teeth. Strong hands, too, that she would use to crack open the ironwood nuts.
She didn't look directly to the Breton as she twisted the meat so that the fire could devour every inch of it before she would. "Aye, that's how it works in the wild," she responded. "You either kill or be killed. Always feels good to be on the winning side." She grinned. "No meat better than the meat of the wild, I can tell you that much."
She couldn't discern much from the man other than the fact that he had scholarly air about him. His friendship with the two women suggested they've met before. She could tell he wasn't the most social creature in the pack.
The night whispered chilly winds over her and despite sitting next to the flames, she felt the nip of the cold over the nape of her neck and her ears. She had the opportunity to bring Lycus' black overcloak. She knew he wouldn't have a problem with her taking it. It would serve to keep her warm.
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And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed. I long for scenes where man hath never trod A place where woman never smiled or wept There to abide with my Creator, God, And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept, Untroubling and untroubled where I lie The grass below—above the vaulted sky.”
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